How should the world be luckier if this house,Where passion and precision have been oneTime out of mind, became too ruinousTo breed the lidless eye that loves the sun?And the sweet laughing eagle thoughts that growWhere wings have memory of wings, and allThat comes of the best knit to the best? AlthoughMean roof-trees were the sturdier for its fall,How should their luck run high enough to reachThe gifts that govern men, and after theseTo gradual Time’s last gift, a written speechWrought of high laughter, loveliness and ease?